


(un)reality

by Werepirechick



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: ..........mostly, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Also Reality Perception Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chains, Dimension-X, Dissociation, Gen, Injury, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Torture, Violence, electrical collars, get forced out of it, he still has all his limbs at least, he's fine i swear, let's just go with Horrible And Nonconsensual Imprisonment, or like, the gist of things is war tactics and the author not giving a shit anymore, when the going gets tough, wtf do i even tag this as, you get the fuck out of reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-01-27 04:31:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12573752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werepirechick/pseuds/Werepirechick
Summary: Mikey wakes up inside a cell.Being confined, in any shape or form, is an immediate red flag for him. He’s never been confined by anything other than the vague fear of being discovered by humans. Coming back to consciousness, somewhere dark, cold, and sealed off- that’s something he can’t even understand at first.It comes back to him in pieces, slower than the sluggish blinking of his eyes. Fragments of running, of being pursued, of a scouting mission gone wrong-Mikey jerks himself out of his haze by force.He knows where he is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> am i sorry? no. did i write this recently? no. does this narratively even make that much sense? don't know don't care.
> 
> grab a drink and get comfy friends, welcome to the shitshow.

Mikey wakes up inside a cell.

Being confined, in any shape or form, is an immediate red flag for him. He’s never been confined by anything other than the vague fear of being discovered by humans. Coming back to consciousness, somewhere dark, cold, and sealed off- that’s something he can’t even understand at first.

It comes back to him in pieces, slower than the sluggish blinking of his eyes. Fragments of running, of being pursued, of a scouting mission gone wrong-

Mikey jerks himself out of his haze by force.

He knows where he is.

From the way the air stings inside his throat, ever so slightly, he knows he’s still in Dimension-X. And there’s only one enemy here that would put him in a cage. The highly dangerous and volatile wildlife don’t have the higher functions to come up with a plan like this, _capturing him_ instead of just killing him.

Mikey is in a Kraang cell. The eerie glow of the lights outside and the subtly _off_ texture to the metal tells him that plainly. And he’s not sure if anyone is going to come looking for him any time soon.

There’s something going on outside his knowledge; his brothers have been days- possibly weeks- over due to rescue him from Dimension-X. He knows they’re going to come for him, but he doesn’t know _when_ , and that indefinite timeline makes his current situation very, very bad.

He needs to break out, effective immediately. Mikey refuses to stay inside anyone’s cage.

He starts to peel himself off the icy floor of his cell, aching to the bone where he knows he’d fallen badly. When they- shot him? With something. It’s probably whatever is making his head woozy, the world spinning as he tries to get to his feet.

Something tugs around his neck, clinking as he pulls.

Mikey’s hand goes to his throat, and finds a warm to the touch ring of metal.

He’s been collared. _And_ been chained up- right to the wall, with what looks like barely five feet of length to move with.

Hot sparking annoyance bubbles up in him. He’s not someone’s lab animal or pet- he’s a thinking, feeling individual. Shit’s just plain _rude._

He gives an experimental tug at the collar, trying to slide his thick fingertips under the edge. It makes what he thinks is a high pitched whine, and-

Mikey screams as electricity shoots through him, making him convulse. He lets go of the collar immediately and falls back down; landing on his bad side, shaking from head to toe.

He coughs, inhaling stinging air and blinking tears out of his eyes. Pain buzzes around his neck- tender scales burnt from the direct contact with the shock. It’s agony for a few seconds, then settling into a slow throb.

Mikey lays on the floor, stuck just breathing in and out as he endures the aftermath of the stun. He groans weakly, berating himself on a cliché mistake and for getting into this in the first place.

The door to his cell swoops open abruptly, illuminating his sight and blinding him. Identically shaped figures stand in the light shining in, and Mikey doesn’t have to wait for them to start talking to know who they are.

“The one known as Turtle will now be coming with the ones known as Kraang,” The lead Kraang says, monotone and exactly like every other Kraang Mikey has ever heard.

Mikey sneers a grin, and gets to his feet with minimal shakiness. “Uh, yeah, I don’t think so.”

Mikey feels his mask, belt, and weapons are all gone. All he’s got is his tape around his hands and feet. They didn’t even leave him his _elbow and kneepads._ What a bunch of savages.

Mikey slides into a defensive stance as the Kraang power up their stun batons. He grins challengingly, and doesn’t flinch away as the first few advances.

 

-/-

 

“Tell Kraang the location of the ones known as The Turtles.”

Mikey spits in the droid’s face.

_“Fuck you.”_

He screams as another shock of electricity courses through him, forcing him to strain against the restraints. When it stops, he can’t breathe. Mikey slumps in the chair they’ve locked him into, struggling to force his burning throat to take in air.

Dimension-X air sucks ass. It burns all the way down and then all the way out.

The ring leader today stands again in Mikey’s space, glaring down at him. “Tell Kraang the location of the ones known as The Turtles.”

Mikey gives a lazy grin, lolling his head against the back of the chair. “You know what? _Sure,_ buddy. Sure I’ll tell you.”

Kraang watches him, expectant for information.

Mikey lowers his voice. “Just lean down, I’m not feelin’ my best right now. Can’t talk very well, you know? On account of all the _shocking,_ ha.”

Kraang leans closer, continuing to do so until he’s inches from Mikey’s face.

Mikey lunges, and sinks his teeth into the fake neck of the stupid robot. He doesn’t let go, even as his jaw aches and the alien strains to pull away; clawing at Mikey’s shoulders and face. Mikey hears the whine of his collar, and grins maniacally around his catch.

He smells the delicious scent of fried Kraang as some idiot tries to shock him into letting go. He clenches his teeth and screams with his jaw locked. Its agony on so many levels, and when he finally releases the Kraang his mouth tastes like iron and ozone.

But, the Kraang flops over quite dead on the floor, and that makes it worth it to smile with bleeding gums.

 _“Who’s next?”_ Mikey asks viciously, and enjoys the victory for all of two seconds, before another wave of electricity comes from his collar.

 

-/-

 

Mikey is tossed into his cell, some stupidly long while later, and he barely feels it he’s so numb with pain. He skids on the floor, wind still knocked out of him from the last round of electric shocks. He doesn’t even react as the Kraang reattached the thick chain to his collar.

He doesn’t really register that the door closes, but he notices that it’s suddenly dark- _like his home, somewhere safe_ \- and he’s alone for the first time in hours. The pain isn’t coming anymore, other than from what’s already been done to him.

He drags himself into a corner, as much as he can with the chain in place, and passes out. Mikey’s mouth still tastes like his own blood.

 

-/-

 

“If the one known as Turtle does not cooperate, Kraang will be forced to use the protocol known as extreme measures.”

Mikey’s vision is skewed, staring up at the suited figure standing over him. He can’t tell how many Kraang he’s gone through now- he killed at least six so far, because Kraang are advanced and yet _so stupid_ sometimes.

Plus, Mikey’s got some tricks up his sleeve, if he does say so himself.

But right now… he kind of just wants to pass out for a while. A long, long while.

A baton, purple and crackling, is held in front of his face.

“Respond.”

Mikey cracks a smile, stretching split lips.

“You got such a way with words, ha ha. Ever thought ‘bout poetry? Gettin’ out of the evil empire business? I can tell you it’d be way more emotionally rewarding than all this.”

The baton is struck against his side, shocking him _and_ chipping his shell. Mikey screams, throat hoarse from how many times he already has.

“Incorrect response.”

 

-/-

 

Mikey gets the barest amount of food and water, when they’re done.

He’s still starving, completely dehydrated, afterwards.

He bears it. Takes what he can have.

And passes out.

 

-/-

 

“Incorrect response.”

“Up yours.”

“Incorrect response.”

“You guys should get new material.”

“Incorrect response.”

“I’ve heard dial tones less repetitive.”

“Incorrect response.”

“Fuck you.”

“Incorrect response.”

“ _-fuck you.”_

“Incorrect response.”

“I… won’t…”

“Incorrect response.”

“I…”

“Incorrect response.”

“…”

“Incorrect response.”

“ _…I’ll never betray them.”_

“Incorrect response.”

“…”

“Incorrect response.”

“…”

“Respond.”

“Respond.”

“Respond.”

“Respond.”

 

-/-

 

Mikey watches the floor as he’s dragged, hanging limp between two Kraang. It all looks the same. All of it. Uniform as the creatures inhabiting the base.

He shouldn’t have risked going so close to it, even if he’d been trying to be useful. Gathering intel while he was trapped in Dimension-X, until his family came to get him.

He wants his brothers here, now. He wants his father, and he wants his friends. He wants Leatherhead. He wants his family. He wants to be taken away from here. He wants to be saved. He wants the pain to _stop._

He’s dropped on the cold floor, somewhere new. It’s not the interrogation room, or his cell. It’s… big, wide open.

Mikey curls up as the Kraang walk away, protecting his face and skull- waiting for the first blow.

“Stand up.”

Mikey doesn’t want to. Everything hurts. He wants to lie down and keep lying down until someone he knows comes to save him.

His collar gives a threatening whine.

“Stand up, or Kraang will be using the item known as the coercion tool.”

Mikey hauls himself unsteadily to his feet, listing, and waits for whatever punishment they’ve got planned now.

The space is lined by watching droids, guns trained on him. But Mikey is alone where he stands, unchained and without any immediate aggressors. It feels alien to not have a Kraang right in front of him, demanding information.

Ha, alien.

Mikey wishes he had the energy to laugh.

A door across the wide room slides open, letting a figure enter. Mikey is wary, until he takes in how it looks.

Mikey stares incredulously as it trots in. It’s a… turtle looking robot? Seriously?

Mikey turns a bleary eye towards the Kraang lining the wall, giving them a disgusted look. “Really? Not enough you steal me- you gotta plagiarise my bro’s ideas? _Sad.”_

The robot looks like Metalhead did, except… taller, leaner. More like a real mutant turtle than Donnie’s had. It’s still fake as hell, though.

A Kraang steps forwards. “The one known as Turtle has been uncooperative in the process known as interrogation. Kraang has been authorized to switch the tactics used on Turtle.” It gestures to another Kraang, who steps forwards and brings over a tray. Mikey holds still, waiting for the literal punchline.

The Kraang holds out the tray. It has Mikey’s nunchucks on it. He almost doesn’t recognize them for a moment.

“The one known as Turtle has shown unwillingness to provide information. We the ones known as Kraang have chosen instead to use their captive Turtle in a more effective process of eliminating the uncaptured Turtles.”

It holds out Mikey’s weapons.

“Take these, Turtle. And fight the robot.”

Mikey doesn’t wait any longer, snatching his weapons. But before he can attack the Kraang, his collar whines and he freezes on instinct.

He shakes with anger as the Kraang gets away without its stupid head being torn off.

Mikey forces himself to let it go- he’s killed so many, it made no difference in the end, why bother when he could escape pain for another while- and turn to his apparent opponent.

The turtlebot takes a few steps towards him, beginning to make its way across the room. Mikey waits for it to start shooting lasers, or pull out electric stun batons, or _something._ But it doesn’t. It just keeps walking slowly towards him.

Well… okay, then.

This would be over quick. Then he could go back to his cell, hopefully.

Mikey swings his nunchucks, and cautiously approaches the turtlebot. As it continues to show no threat, he speeds up his approach, until he’s running, darting, able to let out the buildup of fury and anguish he’s been holding in for _weeks-_

“ _Mikey, stop!”_

Mikey freezes, staring in horror at the robot with _Raph’s voice coming from it._

His heart is in his throat, eyes darting over the thing to figure out if it’s really Raph, if they’ve caught his brother, brought him to this hell, _done something like turn him into_ this-

Then the robot says, _“Mikey, stop!_ ” again, but in… Donnie’s voice, this time.

Mikey keeps staring at the thing, walking towards him still, and listens to it say, _“Mikey, stop!”_ a third time, but in _Leo’s_ voice. And then Raph’s again, and Donnie’s, and…

It keeps looping.

It’s just a machine. Mikey listens closer, and finds incorrect inflections in the voices. Dull where life should be. It’s all fake. The robot and the voices are fake.

Mikey snorts.

And goes to town on the thing.

They _did_ say for him to fight the robot, right? He shows it what he thinks of the Kraang, of what they’ve done to him, and of this weird mindfuck they tried on him.

What was even the point of that?

Mikey feels exhausted when he’s done, but the robot is in pieces on the ground and it’s a shred of victory for him. Even if it was ordered.

He waits for further instructions after, but gets none. The Kraang keep watching him with their stupid impassive faces; not bothered or pleased that he’s torn their faker robot into scrap.

The door slides open again.

Another robot turtle walks in.

_“Mikey, stop!”_

Mikey’s hands tighten around his weapons, taking a step backwards. This is starting to feel creepy. One is weird, but two of these things?

He hears his collar whine as he retreats further.

“The captive Turtle will fight the robot, or face the consequences.”

Mikey is frozen, stuck between the unease of the situation and the fear of pain.

His collar whines louder, getting hot.

Mikey bites his lip, and charges the robot. It’s less enjoyable this time.

 

-/-

 

Four turtlebots go down without issue.

The fifth puts up a fight.

Mikey’s nunchuck blows are stopped by sais, metal ringing as Mikey’s weapon impacts against them. He reels, startled, and gets shocked for trying to retreat.

“The captive Turtle will fight the robot.”

Mikey can’t dodge the attack from the turtlebot, the clunky, fake thing bowling him over as it tries to stab him. It slices a gash on Mikey’s shoulder, and he screams.

His training kicks in out of self-preservation; his fight or flight reflexes already stuck on high alert. Mikey keeps screaming as he takes the thing’s head off, ignoring the garbled _“Mikey, no!”_ that tries to pass itself off as his brother’s voice.

He barely gets a break before the next one comes out.

This one has swords.

Mikey steps backwards from it, from the one he’s just torn apart, and nearly passes out as a burning shock comes from his collar.

When he clears his blackening vision, it’s just in time to avoid being impaled.

 _“Mikey, no!”_ The turtlebot exclaims, with a new addition of, _“Please stop!”_

Mikey’s head whirls with pain, horror, and confusion.

Why is this even happening? What’s the point of it all?

He can’t think too deeply. He has to focus on not dying.

 

-/-

 

He briefly gets to rest, dragged utterly exhausted from the pile of metal corpses he’s made.

When he’s put in his cell, he’s greeted with what resembles a bed of all things.

They still chain him up, but he’s given food, water, and a _bed._

It’s barely a cot, elastic stretched between metal in a rectangular shape.

It’s the best sleep Mikey’s had in forever, and he has nearly a full stomach as he passes out.

…the food and water doesn’t stop disquieted feelings from curdling his gut.

 

-/-

 

Mikey pants raggedly, staring at the three turtlebots with their weapons drawn on him.

 _“Mikey, stop! Please stop!”_ they all as one in his. Brother’s voices.

Mikey wants to retreat, to run away. This is wrong. It feels _wrong._ There’s something going on with this, they’re doing this for a _reason_ and he can’t figure it out no matter _what_ he tries to think of-

He idles too long.

His collar shocks him, and a sword, a naginata, and sais bear down on him. Everything hurts- him trying to move right while convulsing and being stabbed at by three different opponents- and Mikey has to shut down his thoughts of horror.

He’s forced into survival mode again, and he has to tear through the robots for the umpteenth time.

 

-/-

 

He gets to keep his cot. He gets to sleep, and eat, and drink, so long as he does what he’s asked.

If he doesn’t, pain. Pain, pain, pain.

He’s either chained to the wall or fighting for hours on end- never escaping the threat of pain. If he doesn’t listen, he’s shocked until he can’t see right anymore. If he doesn’t listen, he doesn’t get to eat or sleep. If he doesn’t listen, it _hurts._

Mikey wishes his family would come for him already.

Why aren’t they coming for him?

 

-/-

 

The turtlebots start coming in vague shades of green.

Mikey barely notices.

The first time it happens- he startles, thinking it’s his _family-_

And nearly loses his eye for it, being slashed at by a robot.

 _“Mikey, stop!”_ It mocks in Leo’s voice.

Mikey snarls, and takes its sword with vicious force. He decapitates it and the other two. He leaves the sword imbedded in the Raph-faker, and snatches up the Donnie-faker’s staff.

He runs through the next Leo-faker, listening to the metal squeal.

It keeps going on like that, forever.

Just. Fighting. All of his opponents fake.

Mikey has barely healed wounds all over him, he’s always tired, always hurting, and it never _stops._

It never stops.

Never.

 

-/-

 

Sleep is the only solace.

So he sleeps, whenever he can.

He doesn’t dream anything he can remember, either dark things or things that leave bitter want in his chest when he wakes.

The collar never comes off. It keeps him grounded, here and now.

Mikey lives in his cell, or in the battle room. Nowhere else.

There’s just his cell, the robots, or his collar. And _pain._

 

-/-

 

Mikey doesn’t remember how long he’s been here.

He doesn’t remember not wearing the collar.

He doesn’t remember not feeling _pain._

-/-

 

“The one known as the Captive will be going somewhere else today.”

Mikey doesn’t really look at anything, half listening to what Kraang is saying.

“Will the one known as the Captive cooperate as ordered?”

Mikey slides his eyes to the Kraang in front of him, listing a little as he does. He’s not in too much pain today; just the usual cuts and bruises healing on his body. And his neck. But his neck never stops hurting. It’s constantly a source of pain.

His collar whines.

“ _Yes,”_ Mikey reluctantly says, and imagines tearing apart the Kraang staring at him with his bare hands. He doesn’t care where they’re going; he just hates doing what they ask of him.

But. He has to.

The pain. He doesn’t want any more pain. No more pain, please.

Please.

“The one known as the Captive will follow Kraang.”

Mikey follows, pressed in between tens of duplicates. He doesn’t even try to use the weapons on his belt, because he knows it would just make things worse.

But. He wonders why he has his mask back.

Strange.

He wishes he was back in his cell. He doesn’t want to fight more turtlebots. They’re scary. And horrifying. And he’s sick of them. He _hates_ them.

He’ll do it anyways, though. Or pain.

He barely registers that they emerge somewhere not inside the base, and it takes a second for the blinding light from the outside world to startle him out of his haze.

Mikey is outside the base, for the first time in forever. The chance to escape- no, no the collar. The Kraang would stop him.

A Kraang pushes him forwards. No orders follow, just Mikey being pushed forwards- away from the base.

He’s dreaming. He has to be dreaming.

Mikey waits for the trick. He waits for the shock. He waits for the pain.

He gets none.

Mikey is stunned into silence, staring at the doors as they close. And then he’s alone.

He’s alone.

He’s free and he’s alone and he’s not chained anymore and he has his weapons and he’s _free._

Mikey bolts, unwilling to stick around in case it’s a trick. It could be a trick, it _has_ to be a trick- but he runs anyways because he can’t help it. He has to take this chance and _run._

He runs.

The rock islands meld together as he does, and nothing stops him. No one stops him. Pain doesn’t come and his collar stays quiet and doesn’t punish him for running _._

He’s _free._

Mikey laughs for the first time in _months_ , and it cracks from disuse as his feet pound the rocks and crystals. It feels amazing.

He’s free he’s free he’s _free._

He can go home.

He can _go home._

Mikey keeps running for a breathless forever, going the direction the Kraang pushed him towards. He knows this way, he came from it when he was scouting, his hideout cave is this direction and he’ll finally be _safe_ there-

He stops short, when he hears voices up ahead. Mikey’s heart beats a thudding staccato, harsh in his hearing.

He knows those voices.

But- they let him go.

But the collar on his neck.

But he’s not chained.

But they’re _watching anyways._

It’s a test.

This is a test.

Three figures come over the hill, talking and carrying weapons.

Fakers. Turtlebots.

It’s a test it was a lie he’s not free he’ll never be free Mikey will _never be free._

The three fakers stop, hyper realistic eyes going to Mikey. The Kraang went all out with these ones- Mikey still doesn’t get why- and it’s as unnerving as ever.

The Leo-faker goes, _“Mikey?”_

And Mikey already has his weapons out.

He’s angry. How dare they? Give him the idea of freedom and snatch it away like this _how dare they-_

Mikey howls, and starts the battle with the turtlebots.

 

-/-

 

_“Mikey- Mikey stop! Why’re you- what’s wrong-?!”_

Upgraded audio lines.

_“Mikey, stop it! Please stop- let us help you-!”_

It’s freaky.

_“Stop it, Mikey, stop it-!”_

Mikey hates it.

He tries to make them stop as quickly as possible. Get this over with and kill however many more are waiting. Then he can go back to cell and sleep. Maybe they’ll give him a good dinner if he does it fast enough, performs well enough.

The Donnie-faker has a real wooden staff this time. Mikey breaks it. The Raph-faker pleads a lot more than the others had. Mikey kicks it in the jaw. The Leo-faker looks _so desperate._ Mikey wraps his kusarigama chain around its neck and tries to choke it.

He hates this. Hates the Kraang. Hates only knowing this and _pain._

Hates that his family hasn’t come for him.

He’s forced back as the Raph-faker tackles him, breaking Mikey’s grip on his chains and his stranglehold on Leo-faker’s neck.

Mikey shrieks at it, ignoring the stupid fake words its saying to him and yanks a kunai out of his belt. He stabs the turtlebot in the shoulder.

It screams.

Mikey feels hot liquid splash on his hand, and down his arm.

Weird.

The Kraang haven’t made them scream before.

He kicks the robot off him, ripping out the kunai- only vaguely wondering why it’s not cold to the touch. It’s not cold to the touch.

Why isn’t it cold?

Mikey looks at his hand.

Why is the oil in these ones so red?

Wait.

Mikey head spins.

_Wait._

He stumbles to his feet, backing away.

He’s dreaming, right?

He’s dreaming, _right?_

Mikey backs to an outcropping boulder, nauseous. He retreats.

His collar whines, getting hot- and Mikey can’t breathe as a direct shock to his spinal nerves courses through him. He screams, convulsing, falling- and shakily forcing himself to stand back up.

Right. They’re fakers. It’s not blood. It’s all fake.

“Mikey…”

He snaps his eyes upwards, bracing for an attack.

It’s the turtlebots. They’re all staring at him. Why are they so _realistic looking?_

Leo-faker sits up, holding his neck and looking desperate. “Mikey… let us help you. Just… calm down.”

“They’re- controlling him,” Donnie-faker says in a horrified voice. “That _collar-_ ”

“Then _get it off him,”_ Raph-faker hisses, holding his shoulder. That Mikey stabbed. And is still bleeding.

It’s not real.

They’re all fake.

Leo-faker stands up slowly from crouching with Donnie-faker, hands splayed. “Mikey. It’s us. It’s your brothers- okay? Just… hold still. Let us help you.”

Mikey shakes his head violently. “No. No you’re not real. This is a test. It’s not real.” Leo-faker takes another step forwards, and Mikey yells, “ _You’re not real- stop talking like you are! YOU’RE NOT MY BROTHERS YOU’RE NOT REAL!!”_

“Yes we are,” Raph-faker says firmly- the _turtlebot_ , they’re all robots- stepping with Leo-faker. “We’re real. This is real. Please, little brother.”

Mikey shuts his eyes. He hates this. He hates the Kraang.

He wants it over with.

He raises his kunai, and charges with a scream. He’ll tear the voice boxes _right out of them if he has to, they just have to stop talking stop talking it’s not real they’re not real NONE OF IT IS REAL-_

The Raph-faker is less agile with his- _its_ injured shoulder. Mikey slashes at it viciously, trying to get the eyes- _blind it the sensors are impaired if he blinds it-_ dodges the Leo-faker’s defensive attack- _avoid the_ _swords Mikey hates the swords-_ slashing at the robot’s hand and forcing him to retreat- _why is the oil red why bother with the screams why ANY OF IT-_

Mikey keeps fighting, lost in the whirl of battle and desperation. He puts gashes across arms and legs and kicks them in the teeth and nearly tosses them off the island and the robots just keep _coming_ why are they so much better than the others is this how it’ll be from now on Mikey doesn’t want it to be please stop he doesn’t want any more please _stop-_

The Donnie-faker tackles him, looping chains around Mikey’s hands and arms and restraining him in place. Mikey thrashes, feeling the whine of electricity start in his collar, and he knows he’s failing. He’s going to be punished for failing. He failed the test.

_“Just- hold still, Mikey! I’ve almost- I have to get at if you want me to-”_

The pain starts.

Mikey screams as it does, hoarse and cracking as it wracks his body with agony. It fills up his senses and blinds him, and can’t stop screaming as it does.

Donnie-faker is screaming too, they’re all screaming. Why are the robots screaming? They can’t feel pain. Only Mikey can. Only him.

_“-it’s killing him get it off-!”_

_“If I just yank it off, it might-”_

_“-he’s dying, just DO IT-”_

Something slices at Mikey’s neck, at the collar, and- a dull shriek of metal. The electricity stops. Mikey keeps screaming, pressing his face into the ground and wanting it to just _end._

He failed and he’s sorry and he’ll try better don’t put the collar back on don’t put it back on _please don’t-_

“ _Shhshhshsh, Mikey, no one’s putting anything on you, calm down-”_

 _“-make him_ stop, _Donnie-”_

_“-oh god, what’d they do to him-?”_

Mikey feels something oozing down his neck, and his accumulated stress, exhaustion, and agony catches up with him.

He passes out.

 

-/-

 

Mikey wakes up on a bed.

That in itself is a red flag for him, because where’s his cell? Why isn’t he chained up? He can’t feel his collar.

A damp warmth is pressed to his forehead. Mikey tries to jolt, but is too sore and tired to.

Deep brown eyes stare down at him, set into an even deeper brown face.

His… father?

 _“Michelangelo,”_ Splinter breathes, eyes going wide. “You’re awake.”

Mikey blinks slowly as the cloth is taken off his forehead, unable to understand. He’s warm, and not in pain, and he’s… home, in the dojo.

Oh.

He’s dreaming.

“You are not dreaming, my son,” Splinter says, cupping Mikey’s cheek. “You are _home_ at last.”

Mikey wants to believe, but… he can’t.

“You’re not real,” Mikey whispers, and doesn’t fight when his father’s dreamself gently raises him off the futon. It’s a dream. He’s safe here.

His father pulls him into a hug, and Mikey melts into it. Enjoying safety and love while it lasts.

The doors behind Splinter slide open. Mikey sees it over his father’s shoulder.

A Donnie-faker enters the room, and-

Mikey leaps away from his father- it was a trick it’s _always a trick-_ and tries to find a weapon, fast-

Donnie-faker freezes, wide eyed, and suddenly Splinter-faker is holding Mikey again. Mikey wails, trying to escape the hold- _no more pain no more pain-_ but the robot doesn’t let go.

He’s so warm. Splinter is so warm and gentle but he’s _not real it’s not real-_

“I _am_ real, Michelangelo,” Splinter says gently, even as Mikey strains and claws at him. “I am real, you’re brothers are, you are _home,_ my son.”

 _“NO I’M NOT,”_ Mikey sobs, furious for even wanting to believe that lie. _“You’re all FAKE.”_

“I _bleed,_ my son. Can something fake do that?”

Mikey stops his frenzied attempts to escape, actually looking at Splinter.

Blood drips from Splinter’s nose, staining his grey beard and whiskers. Mikey had punched him there, and he’s bleeding.

Robots don’t bleed like that. They bleed oil when cut but not when punched.

Mikey slowly raises a hand, and touches the wetness with cautious wonderment.

When he takes his hand away, it has a red stain on the tips of his fingers. Mikey brings it close, and sniffs.

It’s… real. Oil doesn’t smell like iron and salt.

Mikey’s eyes fill.

It’s real. Splinter is real. It’s all real. And that means-

He turns his head, tears spilling, to look at his _brother_ , his _real brother,_ in the doorway.

Donnie is still staring, wide eyed and worried, and Leo and Raph have joined him.

Robots can’t fake that. The Kraang can’t fake the familial concern and fear like that.

Mikey sobs.

It’s real.

He’s home.

He raises a hand and his brothers come running. They throw themselves around him, adding their arms to Splinter’s holding Mikey, shielding him from everything in the world.

There’s no pain. He’s safe. He can’t fail this and be punished because he’s _home._

His brothers press close, apologizing over and over, for not being able to find him, for not finding him sooner, for not being there to save him-

They were always looking for him. They would have come, no matter how long it took.

They’re so sorry.

And Mikey sobs harder, horrible images attaching themselves to the faces of his brothers and he loves them and he missed them but every time he looks at them he feels _in danger._

He’s relieved and terrified, and he presses his face into Splinter’s chest. As long as he doesn’t look, he can stand to be close to his brothers.

Mikey breathes in, and out, and hides from his horrors in his family’s arms.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i came back and added a lil more to this.

Triangulating Mikey’s location is easy. After they brought him back from Dimension-X, Donnie upgraded their phones so that they were nearly more so _trackers_ than they were cellular devices anymore. Even in the vast population of New York, even if someone somehow ended up on the other side of the whole _earth-_ Donnie’s trackers would still work, would still find that person no matter what.

He isn’t certain they’d work cross-dimensional yet, but he’s working on that.

But that’s not the focus of tonight.

As he’s become accustomed to, Donnie slows his leaps over buildings to something that’s almost a stroll. Whereas every other night he’s silent as still air as he walks, tonight he shuffles his feet and knocks his knuckles on the sides of an AC unit on the roof. So as he approaches, he won’t spook Mikey. Giving his brother plenty of time to hear him coming and decide whether or not to let Donnie come any closer.

In the shadows cast by the lights below, Donnie can make out the form of Mikey on the roof’s edge. As he walks closer, he sees the tensing up of Mikey’s shoulders, the visible coil of his body ready to spring into action- and then it all bleeds out again, as Mikey relaxes.

With no dismissal, Donnie takes this as sign that he’s allowed to come nearer. He moves carefully to sit on the roof’s edge with his brother, setting down the lightweight medical kit he’s brought with him.

“Hi, Mikey,” Donnie greets in a level voice. “You feeling alright?”

“Eh, it’s a so-so kind of evening. How about you?”

“Well, I’m not the one bleeding, so I think I’m doing fine.”

“I’m-? Oh, huh. Guess I am.”

Mikey is examining the long slice down his arm like he’s never seen it before, his expression confused wonderment. It’s not bad enough to warrant serious care, but Donnie can tell it needs at least four stitches on the deepest end. The way it’s slicked blood all down Mikey’s arm is somewhat disturbing, turning his wrappings deep brown with a red glisten.

“That’s sucky,” Mikey says camly, turning the limb to a different angle to look at it that way. “Didn’t even notice it happening.”

Donnie remembers the events following the injury, and supposes Mikey understandably wouldn’t have noticed. The moment the blade cut through his arm, a clumsy, desperate slash- Mikey’s eyes had just… faded in focus.

“Mind if I clean it?” Donnie asks, as he has to. Mikey dislikes anyone taking liberties with his body these days, even so long after.

“You probably should… yeah, go ahead. I'll keep still for you.”

True to his word, Mikey keeps perfectly- eerily- still as Donnie opens the medical kit and wipes his hands off for sterilization. Donnie can’t do the stitches here, will have to coax his brother back down to the lair before the short window to suture his arm closes- but he doesn’t let that pressure make him show any sign of stress as he takes out more wipes and some bandages.

“You… gave Leo and Raph a bit of a scare, running off like this,” Donnie says as he starts cleaning up the wound. Even with the undoubted tenderness of the reddened scales, Mikey doesn’t flinch at all.

“I was gonna come back,” Mikey says, watching Donnie’s hands intently. Never letting Donnie move without cataloguing the action, identifying its purpose, and then choosing to react to it or disregard it.

“Still,” Donnie says, dropping the stained wipe to the side, “they worry, you know? We all do when you run off without saying… when you’ll come home.”

“I didn’t leave my phone anywhere,” Mikey points out- and _that_ had been a serious scare, the time he did that, in the first weeks of his recovery. “Didn’t even run away or nothing.”

“No, I suppose you didn’t,” Donnie concedes. He opens another wipe and continues cleaning the flaking and dried blood. “But you did… kind of leave things on a bad note. I don’t blame them for getting a little concerned about where you were going, how you were feeling.”

“How so was it a bad note?” Mikey asks. “We were all done with those guys, an’ I…” He blinks, three times, and then frowns a little. “Hmm… okay, maybe I did kind of… you know.”

 _You know,_ being the summarised version of Mikey’s actions. Of him being cut, of his laughter and jokes abruptly vanishing, of him grabbing the no-name Purple Dragon gang member by the wrist and snapping it cleanly as the man screamed-

Donnie loves his brother, loves Mikey and all the endearing quirks and flaws he possesses, but… seeing him so efficiently and brutally put the gangbanger down, move just as swift and silent to the next, actions and expression devoid of his usual cheer and gleeful taunting as he met each opponent, and broke them just enough they’d go down.

And then nearly more, to make sure they’d stay down. Permanently.

Seeing Mikey like that… it’s a visceral wrongness, a contradiction of who Mikey has been since their earliest years. They’re all ninjas, they’ve all been trained to fight and deal what violence is necessary, but quiet Mikey slips into, the way he loses his ability to spare someone, let an opponent limp away to heal their wounds and see another day- Donnie understands _why_ Mikey gets like that, but it doesn’t make it any less disturbing to see him as such.

“It’s alright,” Donnie says, same as every time Mikey does this, “you were just scared, that’s all.”

Mikey cocks his head slowly, brow furrowed. “Mmmm… not _scared_ , I don’t think? Dunno, actually… I don’t really remember a ton of what I was thinking.”

Donnie can guess, even if Mikey can’t. Or won’t, maybe. It’s dark, wherever Mikey goes in those moments. Somewhere dark and terrible- a place that makes him view almost everyone as a threat.

Sometimes, especially at the beginning- that included Donnie. Included him, and their brothers, and to an extent every person they knew. Their home, even. Not even in his room did Mikey feel safe most nights, immediately following his rescue.

“ _Not real, none of it’s real, no one not you not this none of it’s_ real,” Mikey had hissed, fervent and terrified, coming out of a daymare that sent everyone running to his room to wake him- only to have everything within reach be thrown at their heads.

Those moments, the days and nights where Mikey looked at them and _didn’t see them_ … scared Donnie right to his core.

But as much as those times scared him- scared for Mikey, scared for how his brother would feel, afterwards- just looking at the ring of thick burn scars around Mikey’s neck assuages the brief moments of fear. Reminds Donnie that Mikey has already endured _so much,_ and needs support and love, not fear and suspicion.

Mikey is heavily scarred, nearly all over. Healed injuries that have turned a silvery green as time passed; an accord of Mikey’s battles and survival. The one that is most painful to look at is obviously the one on his neck, still raised and ugly after a year and a half since Dimension-X.

So much has happened since then, so many more battles, so many losses and gains, so many close calls- but the scars from Mikey’s electric collar remain, and likely always will.

Donnie finishes wiping away the blood of Mikey’s gash, which isn’t as bad as Donnie feared, and reaches for the roll of bandages and gauze.

“Raph will probably recount it in aching detail later, if you ask him nicely,” Donnie replies finally, placing the gauze where needed and beginning to wrap the limb. “But, I’m gonna warn you now- he’s going to swear at you a _lot_.” Except not really, not if Donnie texted their code word for Mikey being in a bad state, signalling what kind of welcome they needed to present when their brother came home.

They’ve got a whole collection of code words and safety words and _guidelines_ just about, to counteract Mikey’s bad spots, and truthfully anyone else’s, too. Mikey isn’t the only one to have suffered through trauma the past months, isn’t, unfortunately speaking, the only one to get tripped up un-expectantly and experience a panic attack.

They’re all trying their best though, building systems to catch one another when someone falters. And it’s mostly working, thank fucking god. Even if tonight was a bad night for Mikey, he’s here and not hiding, letting Donnie patch him up without shying away with bared teeth.

Raph is going to yell at Mikey, because he’s concerned and he loves his little brother, and Mikey will let him because he knows all those things and treasures them.

“Ha… probably, yeah,” Mikey says, a crooked smile pulling at his lips. It’s a fond one, familiar as the shade of blue Mikey’s eyes are- but it’s slightly ruined by the way some scales pull tighter than the others, one end of the grin sliced through by a long since healed scar.

But, it’s still Mikey’s smile, and Donnie returns the expression easily.

“I sent them to go pick up lunch from Murakami’s,” Donnie adds, a part of the plan to get Mikey to come home. “They should be getting home around the same time we do, if we leave right after I’m done.”

Mikey goes quiet at those words, and Donnie lets his brother mull over the offer; using the silent pause to finish fastening the bandages in place. There. That will keep the injury from being infected or worsened, at least until Donnie can get stitches into it, or… Mikey refuses treatment, and lets it heal over large and haphazard.

It wouldn’t be out of place on Mikey’s scaly body, in truth. Which is quite saddening to think about.

“…okay, yeah, sure,” Mikey says after the moment has drawn out. He shoots Donnie a smirk that seems only a little forced. “Betcha we can beat them by a whole five minutes?”

Some of the worry in Donnie eases; relieved his brother is willing to come home, be somewhere he’s _safe,_ if only from his family’s perspective- and he nods with his own smirk. “We could make it eight minutes if we push it.”

“We’ll get the TV remote before they do,” Mikey enthuses, almost cackling.

“There’s a Shrek marathon on channel fourteen, all four movies,” Donnie says deviously. “Feel like wagering whether they’ll hate it or love it?”

“Raph _smells_ like Shrek, so I’ll bet he loves it tonight. Birds of a feather flock together.”

“Then I’ll bet Leo acts like he’s too good for early 2000’s classics.”

“Deal.”

They shake on it- whoever loses has to give up rights to the Last Piece when the time comes that their lunch is nearly gone- and Donnie collects the medical supplies back into its carrying case, putting the used wipes into a plastic baggy to dispose of later. They stand and turn to head home, starting slow as they work up to a full sprint.

“Can I give you stitches while we wait for them?” Donnie risks asking directly as they traverse the crowded buildings of their patrol turf.

“Hhhhhh…. I _guess,”_ Mikey relents, looking not super happy with the prospect, but willing nonetheless.

Donnie gives him a grateful smile, proud of his brother’s bravery. Once, during a talk about just _what_ the Kraang did to him- Mikey confessed that _sometimes_ the Kraang had the decency to treat his wounds. Never with the benefit of painkillers though, or comfort of any kind.

It’d involved restraints, mostly, and a lot of non-consensual touching of his body. The thought of that still puts an deep pit in Donnie’s stomach, which roils angrily in pain at times.

But, that’s long since passed, and Donnie can do his best to make the experiences fade further.

“I’ll give you ibuprofen and Tylenol afterwards, promise,” Donnie says, “and I’ve got a numbing gel with your name on it.” All those items hard gotten and hoarded like fine jewels. But for Mikey’s comfort, Donnie thinks spending some of his supplies is worth it.

“Thanks, Dee, I really appreciate it,” Mikey replies, shooting a grateful expression Donnie’s way. Donnie waves him off. It’s the least he can do, honestly.

Donnie has so few resources to help his brothers stay healthy, both mentally and physically. He spreads them carefully, adjusting and tweaking treatments to make them more effective with less expense. The attacks and relapses Mikey suffers aren’t something Donnie can tangibly fix; unable to just dip a silver needle into the psyche of his brother and stitch all its broken pieces back into place. He _wishes_ he could, but he can’t, and that’s what makes the ability to offer pain relief so much more important than it otherwise would be.

And besides, Mikey is healing himself on his own. Suturing his wounds and letting them scar over. They’re all helping in every way they can, like Mikey does when it’s someone else’s turn to break down- but it’s Mikey’s own strength that’s gotten him this far. The indomitable spirit that kept him alive even under the Kraang’s control and torture, and brought him back to himself after his rescue.

He’s come so far from then, from skulking in shadows and flinching every time he laid eyes on Donnie or their brothers. Mikey is admirable in his ability to move forwards, to keep his true self intact even after months of conditioning. Donnie couldn’t be prouder.

As they near the point where they’ll switch to underground tunnels, Donnie glances at his brother as he runs- watching Mikey’s short bandana tails stream in the air behind him, each step taken with both power and poise, moving as agile as any graceful nocturnal predator and doing it with a wild and carefree grin on his face.

He’s scarred, and scared, sometimes, and slips up in ways that send slivers of fear to the center of Donnie’s heart- but Mikey is himself, still completely and totally his own person, and for that he’s amazing in every way.

They drop together down to street level, slipping under the surface and racing the dark of their well-trodden subterranean haunts. Their brothers unaware of their increasing chances of being the losers in a silly and meaningless game, and smiles once more on Donnie and Mikey’s faces.

Later, lacing thread through the clean edges of flesh on Mikey’s arm, pulling them together again and tying them there, Donnie settles his own worries of his brother by doing so, and allows Mikey to banish any remaining fears he might be harboring with cheesy but enjoyable television.

To both their dismay, Leo _wants_ to watch the movies, and Raph _doesn’t._ Which means neither of them win, and they’re back to fighting over the last bites of food same as their brothers.

The clamor is physical and verbal, but Donnie sees both Raph and Leo mind the fresh bandage of Mikey’s arm, and in the end “lose” the competition to snatch the last dumpling for themselves.

Like this, in the dim of their home, their sanctuary- surrounded by used takeout containers and miscellaneous possessions left on the couches, and the bickering and fussing at one another over things that mean nothing and everything, the blankness of Mikey’s eyes earlier can be pushed far from the front of Donnie’s mind, and nearly forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys enjoyed the epilogue of this fic, i thought you all deserved a snapshot of how things are down the road. if i ever come back to this again i'll add it onto the fic, so subscribe in case i do.


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